Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Iread over the email from Arty for the third time, because I just can’t be reading this right.
When I told him to book my trip, I expected to be on the record label’s private jet.
Instead, it looks like I’ll be flying out of San Diego.
Oh boy, lucky me—my ticket isn’t even first class.
It’s after ten, and I know better than to call my manager this late, but this already sounds like a PR nightmare.
My flight doesn’t leave until eleven-thirty tomorrow.
At least I’ll have enough time to get the agency to upgrade my seat.
I reply to the email and title the message: Urgent.
Then CC my manager. Hopefully, an email tonight means by the time I wake up tomorrow, the problem will be fixed.
Frustrated, I toss my phone on the bed and finish packing my bag. It’s only a little past nine in Colorado, so I type out a text.
Me: You + Me = This Weekend
Vivienne: Who is this?
This could actually be fun. She told me to stalk her. I wonder if she can figure out that it’s me, ready to collect my official date.
Me: Your stalker
No response. I chuckle as I climb into bed. It’s hard to believe in less than twenty-four hours I’ll be back in Colorado to see my little muse. I haven’t been able to get this song idea out of my head since the chorus popped into it.
Vivienne: ?
Vivienne: Obviously, since you’re stalking me, I don’t exactly know who you are and if I’m even interested in spending time with you this weekend. What if I decline your invitation?
Me: You can deny my invitation all you want. It’s not going to stop me from getting what I want.
Vivienne: And what exactly is it that you want?
Me: That’s for me to know and you to find out.
Cute. I forgot she’s spicy, just the way I like my women. She can play hard to get all she wants. Nothing is going to stop me from executing this plan. She doesn’t text me back.
When I wake up to my alarm the next morning, she still hasn’t texted.
I don’t know why, but it makes me smile.
Next, I check my email, hoping for a reply.
There’s one from Arty apologizing. Below his in the thread is a response from Todd.
It says to either cancel my trip or take the flight because the plane is full and there are no open seats.
Fucking wonderful.
I send a reply back. I specifically said I wanted to keep a low profile, and I DIDN’T want the paparazzi to find out about my trip.
At this point, I’m better off begging the universe for a miracle.
I hope there’s no one on the plane who notices me.
Maybe if I look less like me, I can blend in.
Who am I kidding? This trip is officially doomed.
A wise man would call the whole thing off, but I’m far too obsessed with her.
It’s going to be next to impossible to resist driving straight to her house once I land.
A low moan escapes my lips at the thought of her inviting me in, and a shiver of excitement runs down my back.
Before I can imagine anything else, my watch vibrates.
It’s the first of several reminders I set to help me stay on schedule today.
I also pre-scheduled a pick-up, which arrives soon.
At this point, I’m not trusting anything Arty set up.
I fucking hope the plane has Wi-Fi. I’ll have to read the rest of the email in the car, and download a movie or something so I can disassociate.
When the car finally arrives, it’s seven minutes late. This trip is on a fast track to hell. I put my bags in the back and slide in next to them. My driver is a normal-looking middle-aged guy. He greets me warmly and we exchange the basics.
We drive in a comfortable silence as I read my email from Arty.
The good news is he rented a car. The bad news?
I’ve never heard of the hotel chain: Lakewood Comfort Lodge.
I run my hand over my face with a sigh and keep reading.
I told him to get me tickets to dinner and a show.
I have tickets to a local movie theater at the mall and reservations at BananaBees.
“How fucking old is this guy?” I mutter under my breath.
The driver flicks his eyes to the mirror. “Did you say something to me, sir?”
“Oh no, sorry. I was just talking to this email I was reading. I know it’s silly.”
He laughs gently. “I completely understand.”
“Thanks,” I reply, genuinely grateful he didn’t make me feel weird for talking to my emails.
I check my inbox. No reply yet. Oh well, I guess I’ll send another one.
Arty, how old are you? I asked for dinner reservations and a show. You seriously booked me BananaBees and a movie at the mall. Is this a joke?
It can’t get any worse at this point. I switch over to downloading a few movie options off my streaming apps. We’ll be at the airport soon.
Everything goes smoothly on my way through security.
I board pretty early. Other than being stuck in the center seat on the plane, it hasn’t been terrible.
But once you fly first class, it’s so hard to go back to a regular seat.
While I still have internet, I check my emails one last time.
Arty sent a short response: Trust. Hot girls love the chicken penne.
I snort, which earns me a dirty look from the lady in the window seat.
She looks genuinely terrified to be sitting next to me.
I guess I can see how someone like me in their designer sweatsuit might draw that reaction.
The man next to me is already reading a book, wiggling around trying to find a comfortable spot on his neck pillow.
Maybe this won’t be so bad. I start to relax, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch it.
Three rows up, there’s a row with three women, a blonde holding her phone trying to snap a photo of me.
I decide the only thing I can do is smile and wave, so that hopefully they leave me alone the rest of the flight.
They whisper-squeal, then proceed to chat over the flight attendants’ instructions.
At last, the familiar whoosh fills my ears as the plane takes off.
Colorado’s just a few hours away. I’m almost there, I think leaning back in my seat, typing a couple of different messages out.
I don’t know why I do this to myself. My thoughts are a mess.
I swipe out of my text messages, deciding to send something once I land, then squeeze my eyes shut in frustration. It’s just nerves.
I know how to handle nerves—distract myself.
I pay for the Wi-Fi and try to look up the hotel, but, of course, the internet seems to not be working.
Go figure. It’s going to be a trip from hell.
I can sense it, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll endure a terrible trip for a chance to see Vivienne again.
I pass my time on the flight watching a movie.
The man next to me nods off once we’re in the air, and the woman in the window seat spends the entire flight side-eyeing me as if I might start filming her for content any second.
I’m half-tempted but resist the urge. The girls continue to take photos of me the entire flight, which gets annoying after photo number one hundred.
I’m about to ask the flight attendant to make them stop when a voice comes over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve arrived in Denver, Colorado. We will begin making our descent. Welcome to the Mile High City.”
We land, and everything goes smoothly. I only have my carry-on and a backpack, so I head right to the rental car pick-up.
It’s a busy travel day at the airport. There are tons of people everywhere.
The line at the pick-up counter is already four people deep when I step into it.
I’m trying really hard to keep from being recognized.
Paranoid at any moment, all it would take is for one person to spot me.
Then boom—chaos would erupt. I cross my arms, impatiently.
A second person appears at the desk to help clear the line.
It’s my turn in no time. I show them the reservation and they send me to the parking garage to wait for the car.
When the car arrives, I’m shocked to see a silver minivan pull up to the loading lane.
This can’t be my car. I look around. There’s no one else out here waiting but me.
The employee steps out of the car, motioning for me to come over.
I do so hesitantly, dragging my feet with each step as I approach the abomination of a car.
“I think there’s been a mistake. Do you have any other cars available?” I ask.
He laughs, typing into his iPad. “It looks like this is the only available unit we have. Everything else is reserved.”
I say nothing. Of course it’s the only available unit. It’s just my luck.
“Did you want me to go ahead and cancel it?”
“No,” I say a little too loud, not realizing my voice would carry. I clear my throat. “No. That’s okay. Thank you for looking.”
I digitally sign for the car, load my bags, and get in.
The guy is still standing there, waiting for me to drive away.
I pull off, then immediately stop in a parking spot once I’m out of view.
I punch in the information for the hotel to my GPS.
At the very least, I’ll do a drive-by, but if it’s not up to my standards, there’s no way I’m checking in.
It’s over an hour drive from the airport to get there, and I have to drive the most embarrassing vehicle ever made.
My manager calls right as I drive by the Lakewood Comfort Lodge.
I’ll definitely not be staying there. I pull into a mostly empty parking lot and take the call.
“Hey, Todd,” I grumble, annoyance lacing every word.
“Cas, how’s Colorado? Did you have a nice flight?”
“Let me guess, you already know that I didn’t because those girls released a kraken-level load of photos from our super fun flight together.”